Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ren is in his white suit. He’s in a chair before a vanity, with Lizzie and Big B behind him, taming his hair to the best of their abilities. They can’t decide between straightening it completely or giving it a gentle wave. Ren lets them do whatever they deem best. He hasn’t needed to clean up like this in ages, he hardly remembers how to take care of himself. 

He takes in his features in the mirror. Lizzie did a light dusting of makeup across his cheekbones and neck. Not to hide his scars, but to dull them. He isn’t ashamed. It just brings up some… bad memories for his husband-to-be (he loves saying that. He can’t wait to call him his husband for real). He doesn’t quite understand why. He tries smiling. His teeth are so white. 

For once, he looks healthy. They all do. He turns his attention back to Big B and Lizzie’s bickering.

“C’mon, a wave is more Ren!” Big B exclaims.

“Yeah, but it looks worse,” Lizzie huffs. She pouts her lip, studying the back of Ren’s head intently.

“You only say that because you’ve been straightening your hair for years, even though it was already pretty straight.”

“You only say that because you’re in denial! De Nile is a river in Egypt, ya know.”

“I don’t mind either way. We have plenty of time to try both,” Ren chimes in. He’s probably just giddy in anticipation, but who can blame him?

“Nonono, we can’t do both. The heat will damage your hair if we go back and forth too much. And your hair is surprisingly healthy, I don’t want to ruin that,” Lizzie pulls a section of Ren’s hair in front of his shoulder, like a hairstylist. If she wanted to be one, she’d be a mighty fine stylist, that’s for sure. 

“Fine,” Lizzie grumbles.

“You see the vision now, eh?” Big B beams.

Lizzie nods silently.

“Alright. You brush, I’ll use the curling iron. You’re gentler and I have quite a bit of ironing experience, if I do say so myself.”

Big B hums affirmatively, picking up a round hair brush. Lizzie plugs in the curling iron. It’s one straight out of her own bathroom. She brought her personal supplies to help out Ren on his special day. 

It’s making Ren feel really sentimental. He has no family, but she’s the closest thing he has to a little sister. Big B, too, is a very good friend. As Gem would say, these are his chosen family. He wonders what Gem’s up to now; how his groom’s preparations are going.

…

Gem falls flat on her face. 

“Hey, who left a wire across the floor?” she calls, groaning as she picks herself up. She presses a finger to her nose, then traces across the rest of her face. Good, nothing’s broken. She checks her hands. No blood. Good.

“Sorry, Gem!” comes a shout. “I was gonna try something fun with Martyn’s hair, but it didn’t go to plan.” 

“Jimmy, what did you do?” Gem asks, her voice stern like a disappointed parent.

“Nothing! He’s fine! Look, come see! I actually did a pretty good job, not to brag of course,” he gloats.

“Jimmy, you barely did anything,” Scott corrects, peeking out of Martyn’s dressing room. “And pick up your cords. So help me god if someone falls and breaks their neck-“

“Got it!” Jimmy shouts, giving a small salute before rushing to clean up his mess. Gem sighs. This whole thing was a mess, but what else did she expect? Ren was insistent on just Lizzie and Big B helping him, but pretty much anyone and everyone was dropping by to visit Martyn.

Gem was starting to worry about time. She should check on Martyn.

She knocks twice on the door. “Scott? Cleo? How’s it going in there?”

“Almost done!” Cleo yells back.

“Don’t come in yet, we need to concentrate on Martyn’s bridal crown.”

“Uh, it’s a marital crown, Cleo!” Martyn huffs. “I’m no bride.”

“I mean, I offered a dress,” Cleo adds. Gem can practically hear the smirk in their voice through the door. She can’t help but smile, too. What a sight that’d be, Martyn in a frumpy white gown with lots of lace. Gem chuckles to herself, shaking her head. 

She leaves the doorway. Martyn’s almost ready. She shoots a quick message to Lizzie.

<GeminiTay> is he almost ready?

She gets a response quite swiftly.

<LDShadowLady> yup :D

Good, they were well on track. But weddings never tend to go smoothly.

Welp, that’s why they hired her! One of their youngest and somehow most mature friends.

…

The kitchen is a mess, to say the least. Impulse knows his way around, but it still disheartens him to see. “Organized chaos,” as Skizz would say. Impulse wished he had time to clean up. He has so much food to make! So much food. Who would’ve guessed that a wedding would require so much food? He was on dinner-making-duty, while Joel made the entrées and hors d'oeuvres and Scar was in charge of the desserts, primarily the cake.

It’s quite impressive what Scar was making, really. A three-tier lemon cake that alternates levels of raspberry meringue and strawberry buttercream. It looks nearly done.

“How’s it going, Scar?” Impulse asks. He’s half-heartedly chopping carrots and celery, so he can afford to pay attention. 

“Amazing!” Scar chirps back. Impulse has his back turned, but he can hear a metal bowl clatter. “I’m going to start with the decorations now. The fun part. Too bad they wanted it all white. I get it’s a wedding but come on. Have a little fun with it!”

“They know what they’re doing,” Impulse chuckles. “What’s your idea so far? ’Sounds like you’ve got full creative control.”

“Oh, I do! I’m making it forest themed, with a big tree shape arching across the whole thing and leaves all over. As much as I want it to be cooler, it’s not my wedding. Impulse, I swear to you, if and whenever I get married, my cake is gonna be the coolest.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Impulse snorts. He can’t imagine Scar tying himself down to anyone, but every day’s a surprise with that man so who knows? Certainly not Impulse. Probably not even Scar himself.

“What are you working on, Impulse?” Joel asks. He’s sitting with his legs swinging off the counter, so Impulse guesses that his work is done and he’s just waiting for something in the oven. 

“Well, it’s a two-course meal. I’m making soup right now, while the steaks are cooking in the smoker outside.” 

“That doesn’t look like enough soup,” Joel points out.

“Oh, this is just the chicken soup. I’m making a ton of options since I didn’t have a ton of just one ingredient.”

“Ooo, what else are you making- JOEL DO NOT LICK THAT.” Impulse slides the carrots into the sop and turns around. Joel is frozen holding up a spoon, probably one Scar had used since it had some leftover frosting on it. After a beat, Joel softens. 

“Whattt, why can’t I?” he challenges. 

“I’m still using that, mister,” Scar declares, snatching the spoon out of Joel’s hand. “Why don’t you keep an eye on your croutons? Wouldn’t want them to burn?” With a slightly evil smile, Scar reaches back and turns a knob on the oven as far as it’ll go. Joel rushes to fix it, but Impulse just buries his face in his hands.

“Guys, this is not the time…”

“Is it ever?” Scar replies boredly. He tilts his head to the side, perhaps measuring the angle of the cake. Impulse heard him say something about a rule of thirds. Of course, Impulse’s response was that the only rule of thirds he knew was three slices of cake, but he didn’t actually catch what it was. He’ll probably look it up after the ceremony.

He wonders what Skizz is doing right now. He wonders if Skizz is even here yet. The venue is large, a mansion they rented out for the week to enjoy the festivities. Today was Thursday. The wedding party had arrived Tuesday afternoon to help set up. Tonight was the wedding. The actual thing. Guests would roll in soon, surely? Who would be entertaining the guests while they waited for the ceremony? 

Impulse thought for a moment. Probably Jimmy. Everyone else is busy but Jimmy’s only really there because he’s Martyn’s best friend. Other than his dear groom, naturally. He hopes the others are doing well. He hasn’t been out of the kitchen all morning, except to check on the steaks in the smoker outside and to use the washroom.

…

Scott curses himself for doubting his measurements. He gave the pant legs a little extra length, just in case, but now he’s got to take a few inches off Martyn’s trousers. Better than having to add length, but still a nuisance. 

He’s more than grateful Cleo’s preparing Martyn in a bathrobe, because this would be a nightmare to do on a living person. The mannequin would’ve quit by now for all the pins accidentally stuck through it, if it was a real person. Scott’s trying very hard not to bite his pins in half. His hands are busy working, so where else can he keep them?

He has to be meticulous. This is Martyn’s big day, he can’t mess it up with some shoddy suit pants. So he takes his time. If he messes up, he’d probably add lace to cover it up, but that’s just more time, time, time, time he doesn’t have. And then he’s gotta get up to the altar and prepare the vows. They were written several weeks ago, but he needs to make sure he’s got them down. 

He sighs. It’s going to be a long day. He can’t wait until the reception. Then he can party and drink the day’s stresses away. Of course, he will maintain some level of composure, but he doubts anyone will end the night sober. There’s hardly a time where they all get together and have something happy and fun to celebrate.

“Hey, Scott!”

Scott nearly sends a needle through Jimmy’s eye. “Jesus, you scared me!” He exhales. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Jimmy says softly. “You look stressed.”

“Is the sky blue?” Scott sighs, returning to his work.

Jimmy walks over to the nearby window, blocking Scott’s light. He tilts his head as he looks up. “Yeah, it is. It’s really nice  weather, you know. They picked a good day- oh, that was a rhetorical question wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Jimmy. Now, move. You’re in the way of my light.”

“Why don’t you turn on the lamp?” Jimmy asks, although he still moves out of the way. 

“It’s too yellow. I can’t see what I’m doing. I have to use white thread so it looks like it was made this way. The trousers are shimmery — they’re silk — so I’m using the sunlight to tell the difference between the shiny pants and the not-shiny thread.”

“Oh. ‘Makes sense.”

Just two more and… 

“Done!” Scott announces. He goes to stand up, but his legs have pins and needles from being sat cross-legged for so long. He waits for them to dissipate before standing up, then standing back to admire his handiwork. 

“You did well, my guy!” Jimmy praises, chapping a hand against Scott’s back. He would’ve winced if Jimmy didn’t sling like a feather. He barely even felt it. 

“Thank you,” Scott replies sweetly. It does look good. This certainly isn’t the first wedding Scott’s been to, but he rarely is in the bridal party. Wedding party, he corrects. Cleo’s teasing is influencing him too much.

He takes the entire outfit off the mannequin, with Jimmy’s help transferring it all onto hangers they carry to Martyn’s dressing room. There’s a bar across the wall, not too dissimilar to that in mall dressing rooms, where he elects to leave them.

“Jimmy, Cleo, I’m trusting you to get him ready on time. I’ve gotta go prepare.”

Cleo hums affirmatively. “Got it, bossy boots.” She turns to Martyn. “You’re not going to like this, but-“

Scott doesn’t stay to hear the rest of that conversation. He only wishes Cleo and Jimmy the best of luck in wrangling that man into a suit. 

…

Lizzie is very pleased with herself. Ren’s fully dressed in his white tuxedo, on time. 

“I bet Martyn’s prep squad isn’t as far along as we are,” she comments absentmindedly.

“We work well together,” Ren adds.

“Oh come on, you guys are just asking for something to go wrong,” Big B chides from across the room.

Lizzie notices how Ren tenses a little at the words. She puts down her curling iron, making eye contact with Ren in the mirror. 

“It’s gonna be fine. I promise, Ren. And I know as well as anyone, something always goes wrong, but it’ll only bring you together! Joel and I’s wedding wasn’t perfect; a wedding never will be. But it’s still your special day. It’s not supposed to be this perfect party you’re hosting. It’s a celebration of your relationship.”

“Aw, don’t make me cry before the thing even starts!” Ren cries.

“Sorry,” Lizzie says softly. “Just keep that in mind, ‘kay?”

Ren nods. Lizzie picks her curling iron back up.

“Big B, how’s the veil going?” she calls. She might as well make polite conversation to occupy Ren’s mind instead of his fears. Big B hesitates before answering a simple “Good.”

His job is quite difficult, she admits. He has to connect the veil and tiara (Ren and Martyn both wanted crowns, ironically. Lizzie thinks it would feel like a royal marriage, if not for the lack of over-extravagance. It was quite nice, yes, but simple. Just how Ren and Martyn wanted it). 

They had quite an unconventional plan. Any dual-groom marriage had to. Neither of them exactly liked the idea of acting as a bride, so they split the traditional bridal roles. Martyn would stand at the altar with a bouquet, then Etho would walk Ren down the aisle with a veil on. It didn’t cover much, it was purely for theatrics, but everyone knows just how much Ren and Martyn love their theatrics. 

Apparently, they both wanted to do the veil thing, so they raced each other in Peardle to determine who’d do it. But Jimmy told her that, so she knows to take it with a grain of salt. Besides, Lizzie finds it funny that Etho of all people is acting as the “bride’s” father. He had the white hair, yes, but honestly, Ren himself looked older than Etho. His skin was surprisingly unblemished for a late thirty-something. 

“I wonder if Etho’ll take off the mask for the ceremony,” she wonders aloud, bouncing a strand of Ren’s newly-curled hair. They all knew the answer, but one could dream. She bets he’s just shy, but Joel’s absolutely sure he’s got a gnarly scar under there.

“Unfortunately, a definite no from the man himself. Cleo made him a nice velvet one to at least fit the occasion,” Big B replies. “Honestly, he wouldn’t look like himself without it. I doubt I’d even recognize him.”

“Me either.”

“B,” Ren cuts in. “How’s the veil?”

“Well. It’s uh, in one piece. And nothing’s ripped so far.”

“Wow, ‘so far?’ Way to be optimistic,” Lizzie adds dryly. Big B shoots her a look.

She remembers that she was trying not to stress out Ren. Oops.

She looks over at him. He seems fine. 

“I’ve gotta do your bangs, stand up. I’m gonna turn the chair around, then you can sit back down, m’kay?”

Ren nods, obeying quietly. Ren, quiet? Drats. The nerves must be really getting to him. She turns the chair around. Ren steps around it, then she presses down his shoulders to guide him into the seat. He’s looking at her with these big ol’ eyes that make her heart want to break. 

“Hey, what did I say before? No worrying. It’ll turn out just fine. Nothing could happen that would make Martyn or frankly, anyone else hate you today. It’s your special day, enjoy it!” she smiles. Ren tries out a smile, too. “There we go! Your face is gonna hurt from all the smiling, photos or otherwise, so better get stretching!”

Ren laughs. A soft, tired laugh. It’s better than nothing. Lizzie laughs too, and before she can realize what’s going on, all three of them are giggling.

It’s going to be okay. She can just feel it.

…

Bdubs is having a great time. All his flower arrangements came out perfectly. Gem helped him move the tables into all the right places. But the wedding arch, oh that stupid wedding arch. No matter what angle he looked at it, it looked crooked. Was it meant to be like that? No, it’s too slight. It’s barely noticeable. But Bdubs is going to give his friends the best wedding, and gosh darn it, if he can’t, he’s going to freaking explode.

And he’s not even dressed yet.

“Bdubs, you good?” A hand is gently placed on his shoulder.

He shrieks louder than he’d like to admit, twisting half around to face the source.

”Oh, hey, Impulse!” he says coolly. Yes, totally cool. Very hip and cool. That’s Bdubs!

“Heyyy Bdubs, um, is this a bad time or…?” Impulse scratches behind his head nervously. 

“Ya know, you’re like a bunny sometimes. Or a very skittish ferret.”

“Uh, thank you…??”

“Anyways, what did ya need?”

“Oh, yeah, that. Well, Skizz called. Everyone’s going to get here soon. Mumbo’s driving them all in his van.”

“Does the van have free candy?”

“Bdubs, this is a wedding,” Impulse scolds. “Besides, we’re getting paid anyway. And there is dessert.” As if predicting his next works, Impulse quickly adds a harsh “later,” to his statement.

“Oh you’re no fun,” he huffs. He turns back around to take another look at the arch. He throws up his hands in defeat.

“Gah, I don’t have time for this! I gotta go change.” 

He storms off, leaving Impulse standing there like a deer in headlights. No one who’s been cooking is dressed, he realizes. He whips around, heading back for the kitchen

…

Cleo is tying a green bow tie around Martyn’s neck. It’s his signature bright, springy color. They don’t know, but they think Ren probably has a matching red one. The material is quite nice on their fingertips. Silk, they guess. 

“How long is this gonna stay on, hm? I’m doing it up so nicely but I know that you and Ren can’t keep your shirts buttoned,” they tease.

“It’ll stay on for the ceremony. When it needs to,” Martyn retorts. Cleo barks out a laugh before tugging the tie a little too tight.

“Ow! What was that for?” Martyn yelps. Cleo bursts out laughing once again. 

“Oh, nothing. You’re just so easy to tease.”

“Ughh, go bother Timmy,” Martyn huffs. Cleo smirks. “Once you’re done, I mean,” he adds. Cleo’s smirk fades into an eye roll. They tug once again, but before Martyn can protest, they pat his shoulders and step back. “Done.”

There is a floor length mirror on the backside of the door. Martyn glances at his reflection. He relaxes his shoulders and straightens out his back. He tries on a smile. 

“It’s going to be perfect,” he mutters. He’s still smiling. He’s excited and giddy like a kid on Christmas. He’s really doing this. He’s really getting married. To the love of his life. To Ren.

Cleo smiles fondly at him. It’s endearing how smitten the man is with one of her oldest friends. She couldn’t think of anyone who matched Ren’s freak better than Martyn.

They really are two freaks, aren’t they? An overgrown puppy and whatever Martyn was. Probably not human, if she had to guess. His ears were too pointy, his skin too resilient. When they were soulbound in Double Life, she could feel it. It felt almost buzzy, like his skin was blipping in and out of existence. Like he was glitching constantly. It unsettled her. 

Welp, that’s Ren’s problem now, not hers.

“Are ya done admiring yourself in the mirror?” she asks.

Martyn hesitates. His eyes linger on his bow tie, on his neck. 

“Nope, stop it,” they say, resisting the urge to grab Martyn by the scruff of his neck. “No spiraling on my watch. Only happy thoughts today.”

Martyn lifts his eyes to meet her gaze. Well, “glare” is more accurate. She’s so sick of babysitting. 

The only thing that breaks her glare is Jimmy bursting into the room. He’s dressed in a blue suit (no black allowed, and only the main couple are in white. It was annoying for Cleo to find a nice dress that wasn’t black, but they assume that it’s so it doesn’t look like a funeral. The colors are fun) but his yellow tie is crooked. Cleo thinks he looks like a rubber duckie in a big pool. Splish splash, or whatever. His hair is surprisingly well tamed for how hard he’s breathing. How far did he run here? Why was he running?

“Mumbo… the van… they’re here…” he managed to get out between long heaves. Was he really that out of shape? Or maybe just scrawny. Probably just scrawny.

“Alright, Martyn. It’s go-time. You ready?”

Martyn swallows hard. He looks back up. He looks determined. 

“I’m ready.”

… 

Scar and Joel are loading trays of food onto carts. They didn’t hire any staff for this, so they have to set everything up for the reception before the ceremony, hope the carts’ warming and cooling compartments work, and try to enjoy the festivities. 

“I can finish this, Scar,” Joel says after they load the second-to-last cart. “Go get dressed.”

“No, it’s fine,” Scar presses.

“I learned a thing or two about quick-changes during my wedding. I can be done in two minutes flat. You go now, I’ll catch up later.”

Scar gives an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, fine, Dad. What a party pooper, amiright Katy Bee?” Scar leans down to scoop up his cat on the way out. 

It amazes Joel why he was even allowed to bring his cats. Then again, they all were. Jimmy’s cats are up in his room. Joel and Lizzie’s dog, Meri, and Big B’s dog, Simba, are in the back garden. Joel thinks it might have been made to let dogs loose in; the fences are stone brick and too high to jump, but also too deep to dig under. It’s their perfectly safe playground, at least while they’re here. And hey, more socialization for all of their animals. It’s truly just a series of wins.

The last cart is one of the heated carts, for Impulse’s soups. He has to pre-serve all of the bowls, so they can easily just lay them out on the table once it’s dinner time. Joel glances at the clock above the oven. 3:30. He sucks in a breath. Half an hour ’till he’s gotta be seated. And he’s not even close to getting dressed. No worries, he can do this.

Once he’s finished, he sticks his head out of the back window. It’s still quite light out. It’s a mid-fall wedding, after all. The only unusual thing is how still the air is. Joel leans out a little farther. He can’t feel even a slight breeze. Ren and Martyn probably won’t be getting any cool pictures with the autumn leaves cascading around them. It’s a shame. Autumn weddings are always so pretty. The reds and oranges are a good contrast to the white.

What is he even thinking? Color contrast!? Building really is rotting his brain.

He shakes his head, dipping back inside. He needs to go. Now.

He practically sprints back to his and Lizzie’s room. Lizzie’s nowhere to be seen. She’s probably already dressed. He knows she packed a ton of options, but he’s surprised to see her cerulean blue drop-waist dress missing. He’d thought she’d go for the red strapless one. That’s no matter, his brown and green suit is like the grass to her flower. He’s not beating the dirt block allegations, is he?

He’s dressed within three minutes. He nearly forgets to change out his sneakers for his nice leather shoes, but luckily trips over his own laces. Well, not luckily, but he was glad to get a reminder. Thanks, universe! Maybe Gem’s luck is rubbing off on him…

He takes his seat next to his stunning wife. She must have put her hair up after doing Ren’s, he notes. 

He looks around. He’s made decent time. Only two or three seats are empty. One of which is the one directly to his left, between him and Grian. He leans closer to Lizzie. 

“Where’s Jimmy?” he whispers. Lizzie just shakes her head.

“Don’t know.”

Joel grimaces. He leans over Jimmy’s seat, tapping Grian on the shoulder. He turns and gives a quizzical look. Joel only nods at the empty place between them. Grian nods before mouthing “bathroom.” Of course Jimmy, of all people, was still getting ready. He wouldn’t be surprised if Oli was in there with him. Dilly-dalliers. 

He presses his fingertips to his forehead. They’re going to be starting soon.

Just as music starts (courtesy of Oli, who to his credit, wasn’t with Jimmy), a man in an electric blue suit rushes to sit next to Joel. He takes the golden handkerchief out of his lapel, dabbing the sweat off his face. Joel can see he’s out of breath, but the incessant church music is swallowing up his heavy panting.

“About time, Jim,” Joel hisses, eyes narrowed. 

Jimmy rolls his eyes, slouching back in his seat. The lights go dim — probably Impulse’s doing — and the music quiets. Oli, in a plaid tan-and-pink suit, places down his violin in favor of sitting on the piano bench. 

Everyone’s dead silent. Their eyes are on the podium at the front of the room, Martyn to one side and Scott behind it. 

Scott’s in a sky blue suit with his signature four-colour combo stripes. 

Martyn’s suit is intricately embroidered and trimmed with lace that looks like a white sakura tree curling up his legs and around his chest and arms. The only bit of color in his outfit was a bright green bow tie that looks like it could’ve been made out of one of Martyn’s trademark shirts. Aside from that, he’s wearing a brown wreath atop his head, with branches that curl into peaks dripping with diamonds. Now that Joel looks closer, he can see several tiny diamonds embroidered in the leaves of Martyn’s suit. 

The pun is now starting to hit him. In The Little Wood. That’s why his tuxedo is tree-themed. He wonders what Ren’s going to do. Surely he won’t wear a collar? What was he thinking, it’s Ren. He’s one for theatrics and surprises, so who really knows? Actually, probably Lizzie. He could ask her. But he doesn’t. The surprise reveal is going to be so much fun.

Chapter Text

The lights dim and Martyn takes a deep breath. He takes a look out across the crowd. Thirty-something people and Scott, all here to celebrate him and Ren. He wants to cry already.

He soon spots Cherri, up front. He can’t tell if she’s looking at him, until she smiles. She mouths something to him as the lights brighten again.

“You’ve got this.”

Then Oli begins on the piano. He starts with a short tune, a warning for Etho and Ren. If either of them had any more family, this would’ve been the time for them to get escorted to their seats. But they don’t, and Cherri’s already sitting. Their beloved daughter.

Oli plays a little flourish on the piano. Everyone stands up and turns to face the door. The door opens, and Etho steps through. Martyn tilts his head so he can see better. Etho turns around, holding the door open and one arm behind his back. He hooks his other arm around his follower’s elbow, leading him into the ceremony hall.

Martyn nearly bursts into tears then and there.

Ren is stunning. Awe-inspiring. Beautiful. Alluring. Dazzling. Blessed by Aphrodite. Glorious. Angelic. Bewitching. Radiant. Heavenly.

And he can’t even see his face yet.

His gorgeous, handsome face.

Atop his head is a golden crown that appears to be dripping diamonds down into a thick, white veil. Martyn can barely make out anything, but he can tell that Ren has his visor off. 

His hair is cascading in even waves down his back, evidently Lizzie’s doing. It’s well under control, not a flyaway in sight. 

Martyn doesn’t think it’s possible for him to smile any brighter, but he does.

He’s beaming and there are silent tears rolling down his cheeks but it's perfect.

Ren is soon before him, at the altar.

Martyn gets a better look at his suit, his crown — it’s all so Ren. So perfect. Jimmy hands him a handkerchief from the front row and he wipes his eyes before handing it back. He can make it through the ceremony. He can do it. 

He knows Ren’s right in front of him, but he really wants to just hold him. He’s getting so emotional. He wonders how Ren’s doing under the veil.

Martyn studies Ren’s body language instead. He’s… quivering. Ren’s crying, too.

Martyn instinctively reaches out a hand, to give Ren some comfort, which he quickly remembers to retract. Right, no touching or seeing his groom’s face until the First Kiss. This was going to be a slog, wasn’t it? Well, who knows, it might be heartwarming. Endearing. Ren wanted the speeches, and who is Martyn to deny him?

Scott backs away from the podium, letting the first speaker take the floor. Up walks Grian. He’s got neat little cards in his hand for his speech. Taking a peek at what’s written, it looks mostly like chicken scratch. But hey, if it works, it works.

There’s a little mic on the podium. Grian double checks that it's working before beginning his speech.

“Hello, all. You may not know me, but my name is Grian. I may not be the best man for either of this lovely pair, but I’d like to tell you all their love story. How they met and got to know each other on my server, Third Life. For those who weren’t members, it was a first-of-its-kind SMP where I gathered fourteen good friends of mine to try and outlast each other. I’m not going to go into specifics on the mechanics, but let’s just say I didn’t expect anything like what did happen, to happen. When I chose the members, I looked for people I thought would all get along together. I specifically looked for people with personalities that could bounce off each other well. 

“All that is to say, I did not expect the members to form alliances and forge friendships with the people they did not know well. I expected people to stay with their friends and branch out as the series went on, but these two proved me wrong. 

“Ren and Martyn met for the first time in the Life Series. Of course, they were aware of each other before this, but Third Life created the bond between them that we are all now here to celebrate. The whole story is quite complicated and is different depending on who’s asked—“ Grian coughs deliberately into his hand, and the crowd laughs. “— but it boils down to this: Ren founds an enchanting business calls Renchanting, which Martyn steals from before knowing it was a legitimate business venture. Me too, Martyn, except I knew; I just didn’t care.” Grian pauses for laughs again.

“After that, Martyn became Ren’s business partner and advertiser. Meanwhile, the business had grown into the kingdom of Dogwarts, with Ren as its Red King and Martyn, his Hand. Although neither managed to beat me, hahaha, they came in seventh and sixth, respectively. They died just as they had lived; by each other’s side.” The crowd “aw”s, leaving Grian enough time to shuffle to his next card.

“On a more personal note, I’ve known both of these two wonderful human beings for years now, Ren for seven and Martyn for eight, and I’m so grateful I was able to bring these two radiant souls together. I don’t want to drag this out too long, so I’m now going to step away for the moment you’ve all been waiting for.”

There is applause as Grian returns to his seat, and again another person steps up. She doesn’t have cards with her. She doesn’t need them. 

Martyn can’t help but smile at her. Ren’s not crying anymore, he notices. He perks up once she takes the stage.

“Hi, everybody! My name is Cherri Fire. I doubt many of you know me, so I’ll introduce myself a little. Ever since I was little, I knew I wanted to be an artist. I was orphaned quite young, so I didn't have much to my name.” The crowd gives a sad “aww” that Cherri cuts off. 

“I’m not here for pity, so I’ll cut that part short. That little backstory is just so the impact of these two can be felt. Martyn was one of the first people to commission my art. I make paintings of important events during each Life Series for Martyn and later Grian. Sometimes, others like Scott or Ren commission me as well. It’s due to their patronage that I can afford to live the way I do, and I am extremely privileged to have them in my life. They’re the closest I’ve ever had to father figures, and I am forever grateful for them — and that they have found each other.“

Cherri takes a deep breath before continuing.

“There is a common myth, that of ‘soulmates,’ two people who complete each other. That was what Double Life was based on the idea of. Now, those of you who participated in that season will know that Ren and Martyn were not partnered during it. Ren was with Big B and Martyn with Cleo. Despite what fate tried to impose, they chose to love each other. 

“In every season, they would somehow make their way to each other’s side. In Third Life they co-ran Dogwarts. In Last Life they were both a part of the Shadow Alliance. But the nature of their relationship soon changed. They were no longer just in the same groups, it was just them. Double Life. Wild Life. And now finally, Simple Life.

“Ren wasn’t in every Life Series season, but he never left Martyn’s mind. Even in Limited Life, when Martyn and our dear officiant Scott over there were teamed, in a universe where they had never met, Martyn stayed loyal. The words of the Red King were etched into his mind.

“I’d like to end my speech with a quote from one of the grooms himself, Martyn, during Third Life, as a testament to their indescribable love for one another. He said to Ren, after the beheading, and I quote, 

’You took me in when I was a lonely traveler,

going across the lands,

searching the four corners of this world,

and there was nothing in this world for me.

Nothing but walls, corners, edges,

and you know what?

You showed me life.

As much as I’ve taken it from you, you’ve gave it back to me in bucketfuls.

I’m with you.

This is us now.’ 

And you know what Ren said?

 ‘It’s ye and me to the end, Hand.’

He still had that weird accent then (a few chuckles chortle among the crowd). ‘Till death do they part.” Cherri bows,

The chapel erupts into applause. Cherri smiles before stepping aside from the podium, ushering the next speaker to his feet. He makes a brisk jog up to the podium, in a plush brown suit with a bright teal bow tie to accent his cream-colored shirt. As he checks the mic, Cherri goes to sit. 

Grian leans over the table to whisper a job well done. She only smiles. She knows she’s done well. She’s proud of herself. And very happy for the betrothed couple, of course. She knows how much everyone at the table helped further their relationship. 

She almost feels out of her depths at this table, but up front is where Martyn and Ren’s closest friends sit. She’s honored to be there, honored to be here. 

She grabs the glass of water from her place setting, careful to make sure it’s no one else’s. She takes a long sip as she fixes her eyes back onto the podium. The next speaker is ready. He makes himself known quickly. Sausage isn’t known for his quiet personality.

“Hello, everybody!” He announces brightly. And quite loudly. A little too loud, but no one pays it much mind. He’s nothing if not situationally inappropriate. A creature of habit. Or just a creature. A goofy goober, even. “If you don’t know me, my name’s Mythical J. Sausage, aka Sausage! Now, I want to start off this last speech with a thank you. Can I get a round of applause for the amazing Lizzie L. D. Shadowlady, for letting us use Misadventures to host this love-stuffed extravaganza, and to the almighty Sun god Mister Mad Spy for helping set up this venue?”

The crowd roars to life in response. Lizzie and Mad stand up from their respective seats, only a few tables away from each other. Lizzie offers the crowd a curtsy. Mad’s turning pink from the attention, though he smiles brightly and gives a dramatic bow. Sausage grins. He’s smart, he knows what he’s doing.

“I know we’re all excited for the food, but seriously guys,” he says. He can’t hide the smirk resting on his face. Groans loudly from the middle tables. “Oh, come on, Sausage!”

 “On what?” Sausage flashes his teeth again before continuing his speech.

“Anyway! The happy couple! Actually, you know, they’re called treebark. From Martyn InTheLittleWood and Ren Dog. Fun factoid, ey?” Sausage clears his throat. “Remember guys, today is all about them, don’t get too tipsy!”

If I didn’t know that Sausage acted like this stone cold sober, I’d say he was a little more than tipsy, Cherri thinks.

“I want to keep this short. I’ve been friends with both of these delicious human- er, humanoids, for a decent while. I’ve gotten to know them over this while, and they are truly two special people. In spite of the odds — and trust me, Martyn’s a spiteful guy — they have endured. They chose and continue to choose each other. Despite adversity. Despite everything. Despite any of us, because to be honest, they weren’t perfect at first. But they made it work, because these two people before you all today love each other so much. One might say, that dog barked up the right tree. Thank you.”

Sausage swiftly makes his way to his chair. Scott sidesteps back behind the podium. He has no speech. 

Although he can’t see Ren’s face, he offers each of them a soft smile. Martyn gives him a curt nod. Continue.

“We are all gathered here today, under this one roof to celebrate love. The love of two people near and dear to all of our hearts, one Mr Martyn InTheLittleWood and Mr Ren Dog. They have given each other their loyalty, and now, their hearts.”

Scott pulls a plush cushion out of a notch in the back of the podium. It’s got a pale blue satin ribbon tied around it in a neat bow. It’s where the rings are.

Martyn lets himself reach forward. It’s time. With the gentlest graze of his fingers, he pinches the hem of Ren’s veil and pulls it over Ren’s head. Martyn tries his best not to get the veil caught in Ren's crown or mess up Ren’s hair. He knows how hard it is to tame. 

His gaze returns to where Ren’s eyes would be. But now they’re there. His electric, sparkling, blue eyes. Martyn has blue eyes, but not like Ren has blue eyes. Jimmy tastefully describes Martyn’s eyes as “Weezer blue.” They look green in the right light. But Ren’s… oh Ren’s… his eyes are undeniably blue. Pools like azure amethyst geodes. Martyn could get lost in them for hours. Around the middle of each iris, there is a little bit of grey jutting out like a mountain range. It just makes his eyes pop even more.

Ren’s looking right back at him. His eyes are watery and his ears are half-down, but he’s got this adorable lovestruck smile on his face. He’s grinning so wide, showing off his pristine white canines. His tail’s wagging a mile a minute — Martyn’s afraid he might accidentally strike the podium. That would hurt.

Martyn’s sure he’s probably got some dumb look on his face. Something incredibly sappy that he’d hate to see in the wedding photos Gem’s taking (geez, she can really do everything). Whatever, now’s the most appropriate time to get all sappy and bleary-eyed. 

Ren brings both of his clawed hands forward. Martyn softly takes them. He rubs slow circles into the back of Ren’s palms when Scott begins to talk again.

“Do you, Ren Dog, take Martyn to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

“I do.”

“And do you, Martyn InTheLittleWood, take Ren to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

“I do.”

“You may kiss the groom.”

Ren surges forward, twisting Martyn into a dip as he presses their lips together. His eyes are closed, but he can still see the light of all the cameras going off through his eyelids. He holds the pose for prime photo-age, before eventually leading Martyn back into an upright position. He looks a little frazzled but oh so happy. If that didn’t sum up their relationship, Ren doesn’t know what could.

Scott silently holds the pillow out in front of them. They know what to do. Ren takes one of the identical silver wedding bands. They’re engraved with their initials and a wrench for Ren and a tree branch for Martyn. He slips the ring onto Martyn’s right ring finger. His hands linger there longer than they need to. 

This is really happening. 

He’s marrying Martyn.

He’s marrying Martyn!

Ren’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. He thinks he’s going to cry again. He can barely see, but he drops his hand anyway. He offers his right hand out. 

He shivers once he feels the cold silver against his finger. The feeling is electric. He feels so giddy.

He can feel the tears now rolling down his cheeks. His vision clears just as Martyn lifts his hand to his mouth and plants a soft kiss to his knuckles. Ren lets out a half-chuckle, half-sob. Then Martyn drops his hand to brush away the rest of Ren’s tears.

He can see clearly now, Martyn’s crying too. Silent, happy tears halfway down his cheeks. Ren rubs them away.

Of course they’re both crying messes at their own wedding. They’re called the theatre kids for a reason. That reason is just them. They are who they are and they adore each other for it.

They’re husbands now.

The thought hits Ren like a truck. Or a freight train. Maybe both at the same time. Plus a tractor trailer. And a snow plow. And maybe a couple more large vehicles he probably wouldn’t be safe to drive.

They’re married.

It’s them now. Not Martyn and Ren, but them. Together. Until they die.

Not Life Series-die. Until they really die. They’re going to grow old together. If Martyn wants, they’re going to have kids together. And pets. And plants. And a nice house together.

And no one will question them anymore. No more sideways glances when Ren asks where Martyn is. Just acceptance.

He and Martyn planned this quite quickly, comparatively. And the invitations were only sent out a few months in advance. Most people didn’t even know they were together.

Now they would know.

That they loved each other.

That Martyn was his and he was Martyn’s.

That their loyalty is everlasting.

Chapter Text

Once the vows were over, the ceremony quickly morphed into the reception. The podium in front of the impressive arch was replaced by more tables, stacked high with food.

“There you go,” Joel says. “I got ya yer food. Everyone can serve themselves.”

Ren nods from his spot, practically attached to Martyn’s arm, which he’s clutching like it’s the last slab of meat in the world. Tonight is all about them. He doesn’t want to leave his husband’s side. 

His husband. 

His husband. 

His HUSBAND. 

HIS Husband.

This is going to be a fun night.

To Joel’s credit, the food is really good. There’s a wide variety of options, which is perfect and almost necessary for this group. Vegan and vegetarian options, but lots of meat. After he gets a plate, he sits down next to Martyn. He pushes their chairs as close together as they’ll go, leaning against Martyn’s shoulder. Martyn absentmindedly hooks his arm around Ren as he tries to get a particularly stubborn prawn onto his fork.

“It’s like he’s still alive, the little bugger,” he huffs. Ren chuckles gleefully.

“Yeah, he’s doing this just to spite us.”

“I haven’t even done anything to prawns! Mean gills were fish.”

“Slimy?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m good with slimy.”

Ren rustles his right arm out from its position pinned between his and Martyn’s bodies. He picks up his fork and tries to skewer the prawn. The fork slides off the prawn’s buttery flesh.

“Not so easy, now is it?” Martyn teases.

Ren sighs.

No, it really wasn’t easy. But his ego couldn’t handle this. Defeat via prawn? That’s just pathetic.

“Surprise attack!” he shouts, stabbing at it again.

To his surprise, he ends up with a nice buttery prawn on the end of his fork.

“How did…?” Martyn starts, starstruck.

Ren grins. “Do you still want it?”

“Why would I have spent that long trying to get it? Just to make a fool of myself? There are easier ways to do that.”

“Mhmm,” Ren hums. He wriggled out from Martyn’s grip, facing him. Martyn gives him a quizzical look, as if to ask where he’s going.

Ren still has the prawn on his fork. He brings it to Martyn’s mouth, one hand under it with a napkin to catch any spillage of the butter sauce. It takes Martyn a beat to realize what’s going on before he takes the prawn with his teeth, careful not to touch Ren’s fork.

“You don’t need to be so careful about sharing spit. We’re married now,” Ren deadpans.

Martyn bursts out into laughter. Ren soon realizes what he said.

“You know- aw, damn,” Ren’s rebuttal is betrayed by his own laughs. “You know that’s not what I meant, dude.”

“I always do,” Martyn replies in a sing-song voice.

“Hey guys!” Scar calls, wheeling over to them. Mumbo’s just behind him, double fisting drinks. Both are non-alcoholic, Ren notes. A Shirley temple and a pink lady mocktail. Ren briefly wonders who each is for before deciding that the Shirley temple is probably Mumbo’s.

“Ayup!” Martyn replies with a short wave. “Enjoyin’ the party so far?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah! It’s been fun,” Mumbo beams. 

Ren wonders if he only has a mustache to hide his baby face. He probably gets carded at every bar he goes to. Does he even go to bars? Or drink at all? Ren doesn’t know. He shouldn’t pry, it’s not really his place. 

“Liking the drinks?” he asks.

“A hundred percent!” Scar butts in. “Tango’s mixing ‘em.”

“Taste better fresh,” Martyn agrees. He glances over at the empty glasses and plates on the table. Ren takes the hint and stands up, Martyn following suit. They push in their chairs before making their way to the front of the room. Along the way, they nab Gem from her perch by the vegetable table.

“You made me abandon Pearl and Cam,” she groans.

“Not abandon!” Ren corrects. “You’ll get back to them in a sec. Besides, it’s time for cake-age.”

Martyn muffles a cheeky snicker with his hand. Ren swats at him. “Dude!” he huffs, exacerbated. 

“Well, let them eat cake, right?”

“MARTYN.”

“You two argue like you’ve been married for forty years,” Gem observes. “Petty. I love it.”

“Petty!?” they shout in unison. 

“Yeah,” Gem exhales. “It's fun. Keep it up.”

”Wait, dude,” Ren realizes. “We said that at the same time! Isn’t that cool?”

“I feel so connected to you right now,” Martyn says dryly. Ren wrinkles his nose.

“Okay okay, chill. It’s been a few hours. I'm not helping plan your divorce. Divorce quartet was like three seasons ago.”

“Divorce quartet? Who’s that?”

“Ren, you were in Double Life! How come you don’t know but I, a non-Double-Lifer, do know?” Gem shouts exasperatedly. 

“I don’t think I was in that season…”

“Let’s get you to bed, peepaw, your age is showing.”

“‘Tis not!” Ren challenges. He elbows the man at his side. “Martyn, back me up!”

Martyn is silent for a little too long. “Erm, you were in Double Life, you know? You were soul bound to B?”

“I feel so old right now.”

“You look so old right now.”

Martyn flicks Gem in the forehead.

“Okay, okay!” she cries. She grabs a glass and spoon and clears her throat. She clinks them together once, twice, thrice (three times. Whatever, Ren corrects mentally). It echos out across the crowded hall. By the time she’s done her third, everyone is silent.

“Everyone! Gather ‘round! Gather ‘round!”

There is a small table with a big white box on it off to the side of the regular-desserts table. She ushers everyone in a wide circle around it. In the middle of the circle, right next to the box, are Ren and Martyn. Gem takes a few steps back, into the crowd. Scar soon emerges from the chaos, Impulse in tow.

The box has two lightsaber stickers tacked on, at the bottom edge. “Don’t put your fingers under the box, you might get a fistful of cream instead,” Scar directs. Cleo coughs. It sounded more like a laugh disguised as a cough to Ren. “Press the sides in gently, with your palms, then lift. Lift it straight up.”

Impulse nods, bracing his hands against the box. Ren takes a look around. So many people have cameras up, ready to snap a pic of the newlyweds or already recording. Ren beams. He loves the spotlight. He turns to Martyn, giving his hand a squeeze. I love you. Martyn squeezed back twice. I love you too.

Ren sees Gem give a thumbs up out of the corner of his eye. That’s when Impulse starts to lift the box. He’s very cautious, Ren happily notes. 

He better be, comes a darker part of his mind.

Ren would never forgive him if the wedding went wrong. Or himself, for that matter.

Ren watches Impulse carry the box away before turning back to the cake. And oh, the cake is magnificent. It’s all white, with a forest of white trees snaking up all three tiers. He knows from their order to Scar that it’s lemon. He’s just glad it’s something they can enjoy together. Too many bakeries offered only vanilla or chocolate — neither of which Ren should eat — so Scar was their saving grace (for once).

He likes lemon cake plenty. Usually he’d scrape off the frosting and give it to Skizz or something. But Martyn had thought of that too. The frosting was all berry based. He isn’t exactly sure what it is, but he takes Martyn’s word that he’s going to like it. Martyn knows him. He trusts his judgement.

He only realizes how hard he’d been squeezing Martyn’s hand once Martyn squeezes back. Ren glances down at his knuckles. They look a little pale. He winces. 

It was just a little screw-up, everything else is going well. No need to get stressed, Ren, he reminds himself. 

Martyn lets go of his hand. Was he mad? Ren’s mind starts racing. His ears fold down. Oh, he’d screwed up now. 

Martyn takes a step towards the table. He picks up the knife. 

Oh.

No, Martyn wasn’t mad at him. Martyn is never mad at him. What was Ren thinking? His ears perk right back up, tilting this way and that.

Martyn looks back at him. He motions Ren closer with his free hand. Ren finds himself by Martyn’s side automatically. Gosh, that man could ruin him if he wanted to. Ren puts his right hand over Martyn’s on the gigantic knife.

Martyn looks at him. “Ready?” he says as quietly as he can. It was a neat trick of his — when whispering, people can hear that “pspsps” sound, but if you just talk really softly, the only thing people might hear is a hum that easily fades into the noises of the people around them.

Ren smiles, then nods.

They lift the knife together. It wobbles from side to side, but it doesn’t go up or down unless Martyn and Ren want it to. Together, they slowly bring it to a hover above the first tier. It’s a stretch, but they reach. 

“On the count of three,” Ren whispers.

“One,” Martyn starts. Ren’s looking at him instead of the cake. His husband. He’s just so handsome, Ren can’t help but stare. And funny. And loyal. And interesting. And uniquely himself in a way no one else is.

“Two.” Ren can feel his tail swishing wildly behind him. He’s glad his suit was tailored to accommodate it. Instead of hiding the awkward lump that is his tail under a long suit-jacket, he can just wear a normal, shorter one. He doesn’t like long clothing like that all too much. Stuff that snags annoys him. Capes are an exception.

“Three.” 

Fingers interlocked, they bring the knife down upon the cake. The slice is uneven even though their motion was fluid. They raise the knife again, bringing it down a few centimeters away. Ren takes his hands away so he can grab a plate. Martyn brings the knife away again and twists it to form a makeshift spatula. He carefully slides it under their slice, balancing the piece on the side of the knife. He holds a hand out to catch it, just in case his teetering tips it too far. Ren brings the plate up under the slice of cake, allowing Martyn to push the cake off the knife and onto the plate. After he puts the cake-knife down, he licks the frosting off his fingers.

“Mmm, strawberry,” he grins cheekily. 

“Yummers,” Ren agrees. For a natural carnivore, you’d think a wolfdog wouldn’t like berries that much. Ren does, though. Maybe it’s just his human side. His body can process normal food just fine. Like this cake! He lets Martyn also hold onto the plate for some photos. He smiles as brightly as he can.

Once the flashes start dying out, Martyn drops his hand and Ren shifts the plate to his other hand. His right arm was getting tired of holding it for so long. He moves to place the plate back at their little table. Martyn snakes his hand around Ren’s as they walk. Ren can’t help but beam. His face already hurts from smiling so much, but he can’t stop. He puts the plate down in the middle of the table, nudging the flowers aside a tad. 

He never lets go of Martyn’s hand.

Martyn doesn’t either.

They sit, hands intertwined on the table. Their dinner plates were cleared and there were two sets of dainty dessert-silverware in their place (probably Big B’s doing. He can practically hear him saying: “It’ll make the photos look less cluttered”). 

Gem’s still following them with her camera. Ren pays her no mind. Instead, he picks up his fork. He feels Martyn’s soft gaze on him as he tilts the fork sideways to cut a bite-sized portion of cake. He holds it up. Martyn happily takes it. There wasn’t a lot of frosting on the piece, but somehow Martyn looks to have gotten some on his face. Ren chuckles. He unhooks their hands to swipe some off the corner of his lips. He licks it off his claws. 

“Mmm, strawberry,” he echoes.

“You tease,” Martyn accuses. He doesn’t bother to hide the amusement in his voice. He doesn’t need to.

“And you let me get away with it.”

“Always.”

Always. Always. Always. That was such a loaded word. It means forever. For as long as time goes on. For the rest of my life. For the rest of forever. Ren feels like he’s swooning. How can’t he? He can allow himself this weakness this one time, can’t he?

Martyn soon takes his turn, bringing a piece of cake to Ren’s lips. Before Ren can bite into it, Martyn smears it against his cheek. 

“Hey!”

Martyn cackles as Ren brings his napkin to his mouth. 

“Wanna try that again, pretty boy?” Ren challenges, a note of playful annoyance in his words.

Martyn goes silent for a beat. His face looks like a beet, too. An evil smirk soon crosses his face. Ren feels like he should be worried. He knows that smile. It’s for when Martyn’s got a deliciously dastardly prank idea.

“Something’s off,” Martyn begins. Ren raises an eyebrow. What?

“Oh wait, it’s my pants.”

“Are you seriously quoting brainrot, my dude?” Ren deadpans. He’s heard too much of Martyn’s nonsense not to pick up on it.

“Do you do weddings? As the groom, I mean.”

“Martyn, we literally just got married. Obviously.”

“Uhh,” he hesitates. An unforeseen wrench in his despicable plans! 

“The brainrot needs to load, it seems,” Ren mutters.

”When they’re copying your snaps” — Martyn flexes his bicep — “boom shakalaka yes gawddd.”

“That sounded more like a question than a statement.”

“Raw, next question.”

Ren sighs, putting his claws up to cover the embarrassment on his face. Did he really just say that aloud?

“‘Get a load of this guy,’” Jimmy butts in.

“I’M TRYING,” Martyn replies automatically. He clasps his hands over his mouth as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

All that is to say, Ren’s jaw is on the floor. It took him a sec to get the implication, but skies above, was it freaky. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, searching for words that never come to him. He presses his lips together once he feels his face heating up.

“Timmy! You sneaky little bugger, you did that on purpose!” Martyn swats at him, but Jimmy manages to duck out of the way in time. 

“That… was inappropriate,” Ren squeaks out. “There are kids here!”

“Cherri’s an adult, they don’t count,” Martyn shoots him down.

“But she’s so young! She’s like- nineteen.”

“I’m in my twenties.” 

Oh. 

Ren hadn’t noticed that Cherri had walked up to them. He laughs out of sheer embarrassment.

Noticing his unease, Cherri moves to change the subject. “Did you see what Pearl’s been working on?”

Ren’s tail starts wagging again. “The painting? Of the ceremony?”

“Yeah! Come on, let’s go check in on her.”

Ren’s about to go off with Cherri before he suddenly stops in his tracks. He turns around, gives Martyn a kiss on the cheek, then continues on his merry way.

“Ugh, you’re evil,” he hears Martyn mutter as he walks away. That just makes his knowing grin grow wider.

Pearl’s setup is somewhat near Oli’s music… corner…? To call it a stage would be a little dramatic, but it’s a raised wooden platform about half a foot above the regular floor. He’s got a stool, keyboard, and a mic that he, by some divine intervention, managed to connect to the chapel's speaker system. He insisted on being a one-man show.

Pearl’s setup, although there are no wires running every which way, is a little messy. A massive canvas on an easel and a teensy table stacked with all sorts of paint tubes, half-dry palettes, paper towels, cups of water, paintbrushes, sponges — even a slice of cake — and whatever else she needed. 

“The thing with painting with acrylics,” Pearl begins as they approach. “Is that they dry super fast. That’s a good thing because it means I can get a ton of layers on this bad boy real quick and easily cover up mistakes, but the flipside of that is that my nice, mixed colors keep drying up on me.”

“Just a necessary evil of the job, I’m afraid,” Cherri sympathizes. “That’s why I prefer oils, when I can.”

“I think oil pastels are overhated.”

“Yeah. They’re not that bad. Charcoal is what gets me. I get it’s accessible but wowza, does it get all over everything. It’s like ash.”

Pearl laughs. Ren is a little lost. His forte is music; guitar and vocals. He laughs too, although a smidge awkward.

“Can I see what you’ve got so far?” Ren asks, craning his neck. The back of the canvas and easel is the only thing facing him.

“Come on, don’t you wanna wait for the big reveal at the end? Or maybe in a couple days, once I finish the final details? I’m not gonna finish it all today, I can tell.”

Ren clasps his hands together and makes the biggest puppy-dog eyes he can muster. He even lowers his ears to amplify the “kicked dog” look.

“Pleaseeeee? I promise I’ll like it.”

Pearl sighs. “Are you really doing this to me? This is your wedding, you know.”

“Oh, I know. Still, though. Please?”

Pearl sighs again. “Fine. It’s kinda bad right now, but that’s just ‘cause I’m blocking out the colors right now.”

I have no idea what that means, Ren thinks as he scooches around Cherri to see the canvas. 

“Woah,” he reflexively gasps. So far, it’s mostly a sketch. Ren can still see a faint grid in the background. Most of the color is rudimentary, but the focal points are already half-shaded (no highlights yet). In the center of the giant canvas is Martyn and Ren at the podium, under Bdubs’ stunning arch.

Pearl watches his star-struck stare. “It took me a while to get the eyes right,” she says, pointing with the back end of her paintbrush. “You guys do this adorable sappy look when you see each other. I had to erase and re-sketch them so much I thought I was going to rub a hole through the cotton.”

“Stunning,” Cherri exhales. “Why didn’t you use linen? It’s stronger for stuff like this.”

“Don’t get me started on linen. Cotton soaks up the colour better.”

Ren had no clue what the difference between the two fabrics was, but found himself nodding along anyway. Cotton’s known for its softness. Ren doesn’t even know if he owns anything linen. Probably? Maybe? He should ask Martyn.

Martyn! 

“I wonder what he’s up to by now,” he mutters.

“Okay bro, you can stop the gay yearning now, you’ve already got him,” Cherri deadpans. 

Ren cracks a smile. I’ve got him. He’s feeling giddy again. Weddings are really a roller coaster of emotions, aren’t they?

He spins around on his heels, practically skipping back to where he saw his beloved last. Martyn’s not at the table anymore. That makes sense, Ren went off with guests so he probably went off with someone else, too.

Before he begins his search, Ren gets two cups of tea from the self-serve drinks-bar. Earl grey for him, green tea for Martyn. Ren doesn’t know how Martyn enjoys the taste of that sewage water. Once, he’d gotten curious enough to ask for a sip. Never again. It tasted like grass and kale and bees. Ren’s head shakes in disgust, just recalling how it was. He purses his lips.

It doesn’t take him long to find the only figure not in jovial colors. The white is really flattering on him. Maybe that’s why he’s so sexy on Misadventures- NO. Stop it Ren, don’t get distracted by how hot your husband is, he scolds himself. 

Martyn’s eyes soon glance over to him. “Ren! Over here!” he shouts. Ren beams. He’s already on his way over, what’s a little encouragement to him?

Martyn’s standing with Etho and Bdubs. Bdubs is swaying from side-to-side, but overall he doesn’t seem to be drunk. Either that or he’s gotten better at hiding how liquor affects him. Etho, as usual, isn’t drinking. The flipside to never drinking, however, was that he was almost always at least someone’s designated driver. It seems he’d rather chaperone everyone and stay sober than drink. Interesting. There’s probably a story behind it, but Ren knows Etho. If he wanted to share it, he would.

“Ren! How’s the first few hours married been?” Bdubs practically shouts. He was never one for volume control, anyway. 

“Wonderful! I hope all of the guests have been enjoying the refreshments?”

“Joel made them, right?” Etho cuts in.

“Sorry my friend, he only did the-“

“Obsessed with me, as always?” Joel suddenly appears.

“Where did you come from? I didn’t even hear you…” Etho wonders aloud. He’s a ninja or something, he should be good at this kind of stuff.

“What can I say, I’m light on my feet,” Joel chuckles, bouncing on his toes and pretending to box Etho. Etho just puts up his hands in defeat.

“Did you like my decorations?” Bdubs asks.

“But of course, dude! This place is absolutely marvelous!” Ren praises. He knows that’s what Bdubs wants, and he did a good job, so might as well give the man an ego boost (not like he needed it or anything…). Bdubs beams back at him. His chipped and crooked teeth are somehow more endearing than perfect, straight teeth. His smiles look more full of life. It reminds Ren of a well meaning old man he met once — a goatherd who lived on a hill squashed between two mountain peaks. Ren thinks his name might have been Travis. Or Theodore? Tristan? It’s a T-name.

“I know y’all are doing a plant-y theme ‘cause, you know, InTheLittleWood, so I got some help from the Misadventurers. I haven’t really met them too well. I messaged them in the RSVP group chat,” Bdubs stops to briefly chuckle at the absurdity of finding design help in a group chat to RSVP for that very wedding, before continuing. “What were their names… um… Flip and Mister uh, um.” He looked toward Etho for help.

“Fwip and Mister Matt Ranger,” he finished.

“Yeah, them!”

“They’re amazing servermates,” Ren agrees. “Fwip’s amazing at terraforming and Matt’s good at pretty much all things nature. You picked a perfect team!”

“I’m good too,” Joel challenges.

“Mhmm, sure, bud. You were busy cooking, though.”

“Don’t patronize me!”

“Calm down,” Etho says, running an antagonizing hand through Joel’s hair. Joel huffs so loudly Ren half expected him to turn into a dragon and breathe fire over all of them. Not here, maybe on Fantasy SMP. This place was pretty safe. Barely any features had opened up on Misadventures yet; they all might as well be in adventure mode.

“I’m gonna go find someone who CARES ABOUT ME,” Joel declares dramatically, storming off in the direction of Grian, Sev, Lizzie, and Cambam. His “storming” soon turns into a run once Lizzie turns around and sees him coming. He gives her a tight hug, his head twisted over his shoulder to blow a raspberry at them.

“Awww,” Bdubs starts. “But also RUDE.”

Joel seems to hear that last word, and he sticks his tongue out one more time before turning around, not letting go of his wife. It’s sweet.

Chapter Text

Ren and Martyn stayed at their party until everyone gradually trickled their way out. By then, it was nearly two in the morning. And by some miracle, neither of their clothes end up stained. Ren’s surprised and frankly, quite impressed.

Ren leaves the mess for tomorrow. Hopefully someone will clean it up for them as a wedding present or something. He sends Martyn upstairs first to prepare a bath while he makes sure all the doors are locked. Everyone who needs one has a key, so he’s not too worried about trapping his guests. He just doesn’t want anyone breaking into the manor while they’re asleep. Call him paranoid, but an expensive house full of people in their nicest formalwear seemed like a prime target to him.

Ren and Martyn have the entire top floor to themselves. Admittedly, it’s not as big as the other floors, but it’s nice, with tons of windows and skylights and a balcony. It’s like a big apartment. Their bedroom itself is massive, with a huge, soft bed and a ginormous attached bathroom.

As Ren slips into his fluffy grey bathrobe, he could hear water running in the other room. Martyn’s clothes are folded neatly on the bed, and his fuzzy black bathrobe is gone.

“Martyn? Are you decent?” Ren knocks on the bathroom door. “Is the bath ready?”

“‘Am I decent’” Martyn mocks in a singsong voice. “I’m your husband, it doesn’t matter.” After a beat of silence, he amends his statement. “But yeah, I am.”

Ren lets himself in.

The bathroom itself is pristinely tiled in dark green prismarine and polished, white quartz. The bathtub itself is bigger than most hot tubs he’s been in. If he and Martyn sat at opposite ends, they’d barely be able to press the soles of their feet together.

Martyn wasn’t lying when he said the bath was ready. It was full, pink bubbles threatening to spill over the sides. His and Martyn’s usual products are lined up neatly on the lip of the tub. Ren made sure to bring what he likes, because he knows how difficult it is to find stuff even safe for him.

“Are you just gonna stand there and let it get cold?” Martyn asks. “‘Cause I’m not. I’m beat.”

“I know I’ve just- I’ve never had a bubble bath before, alright? It’s kind of daunting,” Ren admits.

“‘Never had a bubble bath before?’” Martyn echos, in disbelief. Ren nods, a bit embarrassed. “Didn’t know we had a first-time-r here. I wouldn’t have expected that out of you of all people, Ren.”

Ren’s grinning before he can stop himself. “I guess you’ll just have to give me my first bubble bath then, hm?”

“Oh come on man…” Martyn sighs.

“Your sweet eyes are betraying that exasperated act, my dude.”

Martyn covers his eyes with one hand, the other keeping his midnight-black bathrobe closed. “Not anymore. I am so sick of you. Just get in the tub. I won’t look, I swear. I get it if you’re embarrassed,” he teases.

Ren contemplates silently for a moment, before peeling Martyn’s hand off his face. “You first,” he whispers. Ren isn’t scared of water, but he doesn’t exactly like how heavy it makes him feel. It makes all his hair stick and dampens his senses. It weighs on his tail, which he ends up dragging behind him like a dirty washcloth. Often, it does end up dirty, from all the nasty floorage and whatnot.

“Me first? What happened to the confident, battle-leading Ren?” Martyn’s voice is softer. It’s comforting. 

“I’m… unsure.”

“Right. Then, how may I be of assistance, milord? I want to make you feel as comfortable as possible. I can clear out the bubbles now, if his majesty wishes it.”

Ren hesitates. He’s glad Martyn’s communicating (even if it’s in olden English), but the reminder of their Third Life days is bittersweet. Ren’s still not sure if those memories are happy or sad ones. Even though they lost and died horrifically, he’d like to think they’re happy ones. Something tells him he should just let bygones be bygones.

“Can you just show me that it’s not that bad? It looks slippery and like it’ll leave a film on me that’ll never wash off.”

“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout that! After bubble baths I tend to rinse anyway. Otherwise when you get out the bubbles will just stay- ah, that’s what you were worried about, isn’t it?”

“I don’t want to go to bed all wet and slippery. I’m not a big oil-person.” 

“So… do you just want me to like, hop in..?” Martyn asks.

“Not hop! No, no, I don’t want you to slip and get hurt. That’d be a disaster.”

“Aww, how charming. I’m sure I’ll be fine, Ren, no need to worry. I’ve survived worse. I don’t think a bubble bath will be the thing to do me in. It’d probably be you, if anything.”

Ren winces. It’s sweet, but all too real a possibility. He’s going to try his damnedest to protect him in the next Life Games. Who cares if it’s another repeat winner, Martyn’s amazing!

“Alright, not there…” Martyn mutters. “‘Kay then, I’m gonna get in now.” 

He slides the robe off with ease, hanging it up before slipping into the enormous bath. He sinks neck-deep, sighing with relief. Ren watches. It looks soothing. Like a hot spring.

“How’s the water?” he finds himself asking. Martyn shifts back, so more of his head and mouth are above water. “Wonderful,” he mutters, sinking back down. 

Ren moves to stand closer to him in the tub. He hikes up a sleeve of his bathrobe. He dips his claws in. Then his fingertips. Then his whole hand. He closes his eyes, feeling the temperature. It’s decently hot, how Martyn likes it. Ren’s more of a cold shower person, but this is like a hot tub. Don’t think of it as a bath. It should be relaxing, he tells himself.

Martyn grabs his underwater hand. Ren stiffens in surprise. He relaxes once Martyn starts pressing his thumbs into Ren’s palm, massaging at a callus he hadn’t yet noticed.

I’m here when you’re ready. Take your time. I won’t force you. I’ll be right here. You’re safe, he seemed to be saying.

Ren withdraws his hand from the water. It’s slick with bubble residue. He wipes it on a towel. Next he goes to hang up his robe, right next to Martyn’s. It feels so warm and domestic. He hears Martyn shifting slightly in the water. Once he turns back, Martyn is facing him, chin leaning on crossed arms haphazardly sprawled over the side of the tub.

Ren returns to the side of the tub. Martyn’s eyes are locked on his. Ren smirks. He uses one hand to lift Martyn’s head, pulling him in for a quick kiss. He tastes like champagne and strawberries. It’s refreshing, or maybe intoxicating. Perhaps both.

He sits on the edge of the tub. Soon, he swings his legs over the edge, feet dangling in the water. He lets himself adjust to it. He kicks his feet slowly, so as to not splash Martyn. After his adjustage, he lowers himself in.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Martyn asks. Ren knows it’s a rhetorical question, but can’t help but answer. “Mhmm.”

Martyn shifts on his hands, closer to Ren. He wraps an arm around him, leaning into his shoulder. Ren rests his chin on Martyn’s head. It’s pleasant. The bubbles feel rejuvenating.

“I could just die here,” he sighs.

“Please don’t,” Martyn replies from under him. “We just got married like, five- wait no, it’s been- erm… fourteen hours! I can’t be a widower that young!”

“You thought it was five hours?” Ren chuckles.

“You know what they say, time flies when you’re happy or whatsit.”

“I thought you said you were tired?”

“I can be both!” Martyn defends halfheartedly. “But you’re right. I could just die here.”

They sit in peaceful silence. The only sound is the occasional little splash when either of them adjusts. But they never let go of each other. Basking in each other’s presences are their favorite pastimes. If there are gods — and Ren hopes there aren’t, for every sin he’s committed has probably landed him another lifetime of eternal damnation — they’d probably relinquish their godhood just to feel the amount of real Ren feels right now.

He takes his chin off Martyn to press a quick kiss to his forehead. He feels like that kind of slime that’s a solid when under a lot of force but a liquid if you’re gentle with it. What’s it called? It’s a goopy name, he recalls. Boo-bleck? No, it’s oob-leck. Oo-bleck. It’s like slime, basically. 

Each time Martyn shifts, Ren stiffens and lets him rearrange himself to his heart’s content. Once they’re back in still contact, Ren feels like his skin is slopping off his body. He’s heard that’s what happens to bodies in water after death. Is he dead? Is that happening right now?

No, he can’t be. He can feel the slick walls of the tub underneath him. He can feel the water rippling up his sides. He is getting awfully distracted by Martyn’s warm breath on his neck. A dead man wouldn’t be trying his damnedest not to wag his tail and disturb the water.

“We should do this more often,” Martyn says, in his hushed voice. It’s the whisper trick again, the one where he just speaks as low as he can. Ren feels like it’s especially for him. Not even the specks of dust on the shelves or the bubbles in the bath or the mighty water they’re in can hear what Martyn has to say.

Martyn has got to teach him how to do that sometime.

“We should get married or have bubble baths more often?” Ren clarifies. He tries to keep his voice soft, but it comes out as a whisper. It’s harder than it sounds, it seems.

“I’m easy,” Martyn says.

“Getting married again would mean we’d need to get divorced, you do know that?”

“Never gonna happen. We’re just gonna get married again for the hell of it.”

“Like a renewal of vows?”

“Sure, sweetness. Something like that.”

“I’d like that too.”